by KE Payne
“So what happened?”
“I thought we’d get married,” Freddie said, “and have the cosy family life you thought you’d have with Anna.”
“Yeah, except all Anna wanted from me was a bit of fun,” Tag said. “When she’d had that, she got bored of me.”
“Nah, Charlotte was different to that,” Freddie said. “I’m sure she loved me in her own way, but she just couldn’t hack being a mother to Skye. Said she was too young to be saddled with someone else’s kid.”
“Ouch.”
“Quite,” Freddie said. “Skye doted on her too. Charlotte left me with a shitload of trust issues, but, you know, life moved on and things slowly changed.”
“Oh, trust.” Tag groaned. “Don’t talk to me about trust.”
“You too, huh?”
“Yeah, big time,” Tag said. “Anna started seeing someone while I was still with her.”
“Why do they always do that?” Freddie sighed. Tag had been hurt too. A rush of protective feelings came from nowhere, and she impulsively smoothed a hand down Tag’s forearm.
“Probably my fault,” Tag said. “Looking back, I think I wanted a kid to fill the hole left by Magnus. That’s all I ever wanted—a family of my own.”
“Really?”
“I adored Magnus,” Tag said. “He was my shadow. I think I felt more guilty about leaving him than I did anything else.”
“But you still went?” Freddie asked. “Even though you knew it would hurt him?”
Tag stopped.
Freddie shifted on the bench, sensing Tag’s unease. Had she said too much?
“I meant…” Freddie began.
“I was different back then.” Tag chewed on her lip. “Selfish.”
“So Anna never wanted kids?” Freddie changed the subject.
“No.” Tag stared down at the grass. “I pushed her and pushed her, and eventually she freaked out. Left me for this Caroline woman.”
“Like Charlotte did with me. Freaked out and left.”
“Women are bitches sometimes, aren’t they?” Tag laughed, but her laugh was hollow.
“Yup,” Freddie mused. “And it’s always us good guys that are left to pick up the pieces.”
She turned and looked at Tag, noting the anguish in her eyes. Anna’s deceit still hurt her, she could tell, just as Charlotte’s did with her. As she continued to look, Tag turned and held her gaze. No more words were needed.
“Can we go?” The arrival of a panting Skye forced their gazes apart. “I’m hot.”
Freddie stood, ambling away from the bench after Skye. She turned and smiled back over her shoulder to Tag, encouraging her to catch up.
Chapter Thirteen
Tag loped up to Freddie and Skye, falling into step beside them. Freddie started to talk as they walked further away from the park, joined at intervals by Skye. A story about something that had happened at their new cottage a few days before. It was peppered with humour, embellished with exaggerated arm movements from Skye, and laced with drama, again ably assisted by Freddie.
Tag was no longer listening to the story, though. Freddie’s words were lost to her as she walked with her, enveloped by her presence. Freddie’s eyes were wide and engaging as she carried on talking. Skye was repeatedly asked to confirm or deny a certain aspect of the story. Their faces were both animated and expressive, their laugher infectious. Freddie was adorable, Tag thought, as she repeatedly dissolved into fits of unguarded giggles at her story, making both her and Skye laugh too. She was wonderfully vibrant, and so alive. Quite unlike any other girl she had ever met. And the complete antithesis to Anna. Engaging, attentive, tactile.
But more importantly, she now thought with rocks in her stomach as she followed them up towards the duck pond, Freddie was the polar opposite to the soulless mess that was her life back in Liverpool.
The view across Balfour from the lake at the top of the hill which led from the park was spectacular. With Skye and Freddie busy feeding the ducks in the small lake behind them, Tag stood alone, gazing out in silence across the town, her eye picking out landmarks she’d long since forgotten.
She followed the road up through the town. A faint wisp of smoke spiralled into the sky. Cars passed one another on the streets. Cows hunched in corners of fields. Tag’s eyes eventually pulled to a honey-coloured building lying adjacent to the River Dynne, snaking through the town. A smattering of cars were parked outside. Next to them was a similarly honey-coloured watermill, the type often seen in fairy-tale books. Its huge waterwheel, embedded in the dark river, sent white spray frothing as it turned slowly but surely. Behind it all lay a patchwork of fields, gradually returning to their original rich, dark peaty colour now the last hints of recent snow had gone. Parked up in the field in the distance and just visible to the naked eye was the familiar sight of Blair’s green tractor, waiting for him. Ready to plough deep grooves into the earth. Ready for planting again in a few weeks. Ready for the whole cycle to begin again.
It was a hive of industry. The metaphorical wheel that never stopped turning. Blair, the staff inside. The tractor ploughing. The waterwheel supplying the power to the mill by driving the enormous Victorian millstones to grind the wheat to make the flour to bake the bread. Everything working in unison to make Balfour Watermill tick over so that it could bring essential trade to Balfour and offer a decent standard of living to the staff that worked there.
“What are you looking at?” Freddie was standing besides Tag.
“The mill.”
Freddie didn’t answer, as if sensing Tag needed to say more. She waited.
“Perhaps I never truly understood what this place meant,” Tag said suddenly. “I think perhaps I’ve spent the last nine years trying to forget it ever existed, because the stubborn cow inside me chose to.”
Nine years spent running, always seeking what she’d had as a child. Nine years pretending the mill wasn’t still there, because to remember it was too painful.
“Now I’m older, I wonder if it’s not so bad here after all.” Tag rotated her hat round in her hands and studied the label inside. She frowned. She mustn’t cry.
“Your dad would be pleased.”
That didn’t help.
“What was he like?” Tag asked. “All I can remember was a broken man who could barely look at me.” She stared down at her hat. “I’m sure he couldn’t really have been like that.”
“He was lovely.” Freddie was sincere. “Very fair. Very loyal. We all liked him a lot.”
“If I could turn the clock back,” Tag spoke softly, “I’d never have gone.”
“So why did you?”
“I thought I was doing what was right for me at the time.” Tag shook her head sadly. “But it was never meant to go on so long.” She frowned. “I never meant to cut them off.”
“So why did you?”
“When I first left, I told myself I was justified in going,” Tag said. “I’d spent the first eighteen years of my life living in a small town where everyone knew everyone else’s business.” She gripped her hat. “I moved to the first large city I could think of, and suddenly I was like a kid in a sweet shop. No one knew me. No one wanted anything from me. I could reinvent myself.”
“And go a little crazy?” Freddie offered.
“Perhaps. All at once I could be the person I thought I wanted to be,” Tag said. “I figured a few phone calls home would be okay. I’d go back and see them when I’d had a chance to make Dad see I was serious about wanting to make a life for myself outside Balfour. Outside the mill.”
“But you didn’t?”
“Life was too much fun.” Tag shrugged. “Months passed, years passed. Still having fun. If I returned home? The fun would stop and I’d find myself sucked back into mill life and being suffocated by my father again.” Even to her own ears, it sounded horrendous. “Maybe I wanted to punish him.”
“How?”
“He wasn’t there for me when I needed him, so why should I be there for
him when he needed me?”
“You were young…”
Tag waved Freddie away. “I was so stupid. So selfish.” She cleared her throat. “But it wasn’t about me, was it? It was never about me.” Sorrow clawed at Tag’s insides. “I miss him.” Tag stared down at her hat. Microscopic concentration. Keep staring. Don’t look up. Tears were just one more word or look away. “I miss him so much.”
“And now the guilt’s finally coming out,” Freddie said softly. “Am I right?”
Tag nodded. No words would come.
“Have you cried for him yet?” Freddie asked.
“No.”
Freddie didn’t speak. She glanced round at Skye, still talking to the ducks, then put her arm around Tag and drew her to her. She waited, knowing what Tag needed to do.
Slowly, Tag rested her head against Freddie’s shoulder.
“I miss him,” she repeated.
“I know.” Freddie spoke gently. “We all do.”
“I’ve had all this time to miss him.” Tag’s tears were warm and damp down her cheeks, falling against Freddie’s neck. “But I didn’t. What sort of person does that make me?”
“The sort that probably deep down always knew you’d see him again one day,” Freddie replied.
“And now I’m never going to see him again.” Tag’s voice was barely a whisper before it dissolved into a flood of tears.
Freddie didn’t answer. While Tag’s body shuddered with the tears she’d held in for weeks, Freddie wrapped her arms tighter around her, rocking her back and forth until she felt the tears subside. Finally, Tag was quieter.
They stood wrapped in one another’s arms for a few minutes until Tag finally pulled away. She pulled down the sleeves of her coat over her fingers and wiped the dampness away from her cheeks. Freddie wandered to Skye, allowing Tag time to gather her thoughts before she turned back to face her.
“Now I feel really embarrassed.” Tag joined Freddie. She crouched at the side of the pond and stared into its dark depths. “But I probably needed to do that a long time ago.” Emotional exhaustion engulfed her. She stood and walked a little way off. No one in all her adult life had ever hugged her with as much empathy and compassion as Freddie had just done. Tag rubbed at her eyes. Because no one had ever cared. No one had ever just held her. Not like that. It had felt good.
“I think perhaps you needed to see just what the mill really means.” Freddie joined her. “Not just to Balfour, but to you as well. Perhaps because you’d made up your mind as a teenager that you hated it, you thought you could never change your mind about it.”
“Perhaps.”
“Sometimes we need to look at something that we feel negative about from a different perspective. Like from a hill in a park,” Freddie said. “And then we can finally see the positives in it.”
“Are you a secret psychologist?” Tag stood.
“No, just a humble cafe manager.” Freddie caught Tag’s eye and smiled. The charm in her smile instantly warmed Tag.
“Well, whatever you are,” Tag said, looking down and concentrating hard at a pebble at her feet, “you’ve helped. A lot.” Finally she lifted her head. “So thank you.”
Quite without warning, Ellen’s words from earlier trampled through her mind. With very large boots on. A spontaneous smile twitched at Tag’s lips. If only she could see me now, too scared to even look at Freddie because, yes, she’s hot and, yes, she’s just hugged me in broad daylight in front of half of Balfour.
“What’s funny?” Freddie dug an elbow into Tag’s side.
“I don’t think I can tell you.” Tag fiddled with the zip on her coat.
“I hope you’re not laughing at me just because I’ve given you a load of psychological bull.” Freddie’s face fell.
Tag was horrified. “God, no.” How could Freddie think that? The things she’d just said had warmed Tag more than anything anyone had ever said to her before. “I didn’t mean to smile. I’m sorry.” She paused. “I was just thinking about something Ellen said to me earlier, that’s all.”
“Which was?”
How to proceed? “My sister-in-law,” Tag eventually said, “is many things. But diplomacy isn’t her strong point.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Ellen said people would talk because you and I have been hanging out together.” Tag looked over to Skye, determinedly following three ducks up and down the path.
“Is it anything to do with anyone else?” Freddie asked. “I’d say not.”
“She told me I shouldn’t be hitting on you after only five minutes.” Tag faltered. She coughed. Why couldn’t she speak properly? So dumb. She rolled Freddie a fake, impatient Isn’t that so stupid? look.
“And are you?” Freddie asked slowly.
“Hitting on you?”
“Mm.” Freddie held her look.
“Well, let’s say Ellen’s right about two things,” Tag said, watching Freddie carefully. “One, I’ve only been here five minutes.”
“And two?” Freddie slow blinked, throwing Tag. Why did she have to do that?
“And two?”
“Bread’s gone.” A small voice at Tag’s side made her words get swallowed back down. “Got any more?”
“I…” Tag frowned. “No. No more bread. Sorry sweetheart.”
“Then we should go.” Skye started to move, decision made.
Tag’s gaze returned to Freddie. She was still looking at her.
“And two?” Freddie pressed.
Tag felt a small pull of her hand from Skye. As she walked from Freddie, still rooted to the spot, she turned and looked round, capturing her eyes once again.
“Take a wild guess.” She smiled back to her.
*
The coat that was dropped in Freddie’s hallway when she and Skye returned still had sand from the park on it. As Skye ran to the lounge and flung herself down onto the sofa, oblivious to the mess she’d left behind, Freddie gathered up the trail of shoes and coat and sand left in her wake. She opened her mouth to chastise Skye for her untidiness then stopped when she heard low voices from the lounge: Pete and Sarah. Freddie’s shoulders sagged. For some reason, she didn’t feel able to cope with company right now. She knew she’d have to walk into the lounge, force a smile on her face, and be sociable when all she wanted to do was hide out in the conservatory with a cup of tea and be alone with her thoughts. Thoughts of Tag.
She had just spent three hours in Tag’s company and yet missed her the second they parted. She hung back in the hallway, remembering. Tag was telling her, wasn’t she? Telling her she liked her, and if it hadn’t been for her impatient daughter, Freddie was sure she might have eventually responded with the same.
Timing sometimes sucked.
She and Tag had parted at the park. Despite Skye’s repeated begging for Tag to come back with them, Tag had, to Freddie’s disappointment, turned the offer down. Freddie knew she’d have given anything to hang out longer with Tag: a stroll round the park, a visit to the bandstand, afternoon tea up at the pavilion. Any one of those would have been paradise. But any one of those would also mean another step closer to Tag, another stage of attachment. Another chance for Tag to look at her the way she’d looked at her when she’d walked away from her, her hand firmly in Skye’s. Interest. Wanting and needing. A slow blink and a held gaze that had sent a shard of ice down Freddie’s back. A look she hadn’t seen since Charlotte, and one that Freddie hadn’t been able to shake from her head all the way home. She knew she wanted Tag to look at her like that again. But what would that mean for her? Or Skye, for that matter? Freddie knew it couldn’t happen again.
“Have you seen this?” Pete called from the lounge. “This guy’s about to walk across a tightrope without a harness.”
Freddie poked her head around the door. A scene of Saturday afternoon domestic bliss hit her: Pete and Sarah on the sofa, Skye wedged between them, spellbound by the TV. A family unit.
“How was the park?” Sarah tilted her h
ead back on the sofa.
“Busy.” Freddie sat down. “Half of Balfour was there.”
“Tag went down the slide with me. Twice.” Skye didn’t move her eyes from the screen.
“Tag, huh?” Pete caught Freddie’s eye.
“She got me this.” Skye clambered from the sofa. She went back into the hall and came back with her piggy bank. She rattled it with a flourish and marched back up to Pete, holding it up an inch from his face. “It’s a money box and she put…” She tilted her head to one side and looked over to Freddie. “How much did Tag put in it?”
“Two pounds sixty-five,” Freddie answered. She looked at the pig. The gesture had added yet another lovely layer to Tag, as if in Freddie’s eyes right now she even needed one.
“And she put two pounds sixty-five in it,” Skye confirmed.
“It’s lovely.” Pete took it from her and studied it. “That was nice of her.”
“She’s nice.” Skye took the pig back from him and carefully placed it on the mantelpiece.
“You like her?”
Skye landed back on the sofa and leaned her head against Pete’s arm. “She’s funny.”
“Tea?” Sarah stood and looked pointedly to the kitchen. Freddie took her cue and followed her from the lounge. “So the park was awesome, huh?” Sarah opened one of the cupboards.
“Skye enjoyed it.” Freddie knew what Sarah was angling at.
“And you?” Sarah dipped her head and caught Freddie’s eye.
“It was good.”
“So tell me about Tag.” Sarah plopped teabags into a teapot. “The look on your face tells me you want to, but you don’t want to.”
“Right on both counts.”
“Pete told me you’ve been seeing a lot of her lately.”
“Maybe too much.” Freddie sat down. She cradled her head in her hands. “That’s what scares me.” Tag loitered in the perimeters of her mind, waiting for Freddie to give her full attention. Waiting for Freddie to forget about anything and everything else. Just like she’d been doing for days. Their afternoon at the park, the look Tag had given her, the hints she’d offered, had merely accelerated Freddie’s thoughts.
